


and i keep on climbing up

by aomame (heart_nouveau)



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: F/F, Gardens & Gardening, Patty POV, Rooftop Garden
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-21 22:45:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9570041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heart_nouveau/pseuds/aomame
Summary: “I’m gonna plant a rooftop garden,” Patty said one day while they were in the kitchen having breakfast. “We got all that space up there that we ain’t even using.”Holtzmann turned around. Her eyes were curious. She removed a piece of toast from her mouth and asked, “What’s a rooftop garden?”





	

 

After forty-eight years of living in New York City, this was the first time Patty’d ever had some real estate with a roof space.

The first time everyone was up there together, it was magical. That view, the Tribeca buildings unfolding into a midnight metropolitan wonderland: it would’ve melted even the most hardened city dweller’s heart. Seeing the entire island of Manhattan lit up to say _thank you_ to the Ghostbusters made it all the more enchanting.

And then, time passed. Patty’s team got busy with calls and their schedule filled. The Busters started operating more as the Monday through Friday municipally-funded business they’d become, instead of the spontaneous rogue operation they’d once been.

But Patty didn’t forget about that roof. It seemed like maybe the others had, but not her.

“I’m gonna plant a rooftop garden,” she said one day while they were in the kitchen having breakfast. “We got all that space up there that we ain’t even using.”

“You know, you can probably expense it,” Erin said thoughtfully, stirring sugar into her coffee. “Jennifer would give you anything for a few good social media posts.”

“Mmhmm,” Abby said vaguely, without looking up from her laptop. “What Erin said.”

Holtzmann turned around. Her eyes were curious. She removed a piece of toast from her mouth and asked, “What’s a rooftop garden?”

 

 

To get to the firehouse roof, Patty had to go up a rickety flight of stairs from the third floor and push open a 80s-era fire door. There she was greeted by a lot of gray space: square feet upon square feet of cement floor bounded by a lip of red brick wall. It was much larger and emptier than she remembered; the only thing up there was a wooden school chair left by the previous tenants, looking stranded and lonely.

Patty put her hands on her hips and slowly turned in a circle. She thought about going and looking over the edge, but being three stories up didn’t sit too well with her. On the street below, cars honked and city traffic moved along at its usual pace. If she was going to transform this rooftop into a tranquil garden oasis, she had her work cut out for her.

“All right, Patty. One step at a time.”

Patty sat down in the chair and took a deep breath. She could do this.

 

 

There was one small problem—being a city girl born and raised, Patty didn’t have a clue about gardening. So she decided to do what she did best, which was read books, do her research, learn about it. She printed out some articles, reserved several books at her preferred library, and even picked up some city pamphlets on urban gardens.

It turned out things were not entirely unfamiliar. The topic reminded her of her grandma Marie, who’d kept an ever-changing collection of herbs and plants on the fire escape of her Queens apartment when Patty was growing up. At the time, Patty had barely lifted her nose out of her books; now she wished she’d paid better attention and learned everything her grandma had to teach.

“We’re in Zone 7,” she told everyone at lunch, thumbing through _Plants in the City: Your Guide to Gardening in the Big Apple_  as she tucked into some spaghetti carbonara. Erin was shooting worried glances across the table, but there was no need. Patty had been a pro at keeping library books pristine in the stickiest of situations since before she could remember.

She continued, “So that means we have a medium length growing season between April and October. We can plant most kinds of flowers and plants, and even vegetables that grow in the cold season, but nothin’ too tropical.”

Abby waved her fork in air. “I want sugar snap peas. Can we grow those?”

Patty smiled. “I’ll look it up.”

 

 

She explored all the different places to buy plants and seedlings and flowers and bushes in New York City, from the fancy gardening depots to grimy little hardware stores with good word-of-mouth to her cousin’s friend’s backyard, where a smiling, dirt-covered stranger trudged out to give her five tree seedlings meticulously wrapped in brown paper. “Anything for the lady who helped save the city,” he said with a wink, grinding a cigarette into the ground under his work boot. “Todo para la _Ghostbuster_.”

Holtzmann accompanied her on these trips, adding dirt smears to the paint and grease stains on her overalls. On weekends and on slow workdays, they loaded heavy bags of damp soil, bags of gardening tools, and cardboard trays full of perennials and annuals into the backseat of the Ectomobile and set off for the firehouse together.

“Baby, slow down! You’re gonna hurt the plants.”

“I’m just so revved up from all that extra oxygen—isn’t photosynthesis a beautiful thing?”

“Girl, _what?”_

Sometimes they got lost together on those long sunlit afternoons, locking up the car filled with plants when they ended up trying out a café in some far-off neighborhood or idling in the park together over coffee. On those days, they didn’t make it back to the firehouse until late. Then those new plants would have to wait indoors until the next day, when Holtzy and Patty and maybe Abby, Erin, and occasionally Kevin would be ready to pot them.

Abby and Erin were flaky at best. Kevin preferred carrying the plants up to the roof to having to do any delicate planting work (a look of utter fear crossed his face the first time Patty told him what to do). But Holtzmann always helped out, looking peaceful as she dug in. She was like a mole—she loved to dig dirt.

“You know you're supposed to use a spade,” Patty told her, watching. “And garden gloves.”

“It’s more fun this way.” Holtzmann formed clumps of dirt into a rod with her bare hands, crumbling it back into soil with a satisfied look on her face.

“That is so nasty, Holtzy, I don’t even…”

Holtzmann grabbed a iris plant and placed into her pot. She delicately started tamping down dark soil over the roots using both index fingers.

Patty shook her head. “You better scrub under those nails later, girl.”

Patty experimented with pH strips, sampling the different soils they bought. She read up on soil testing and found herself wishing they had a street-level garden, just so she could learn about the history of the ground they were living on. Curious, she went out and pH tested some of the dirt from the boulevard in front of the firehouse (it was mildly acidic). She took a soil sample and stuck it in one of the firehouse fridges, figuring she’d get it tested later in the year when it was cold outside and she didn’t have anything better to do.

When it came to fertilizer, Patty had to stop Holtzy from using anything potentially radioactive or even too chemical-based. “What’s in this, Holtzy?” she asked, eyeing the unlabeled Erlenmeyer flask the engineer presented her with, its dark contents swirling ominously.

“It’s a mix of soil, distilled water, vinegar, cooked egg yolk, and some potassium supplements.”

“And?”

“Well, I crushed some egg shells and put them in there too. But that was an accident.”

“ _And_?”

Holtzy beamed. “And some radium, because it would _so_ cool if we had a glow-in-the-dark garden!”

Patty wrapped Holtzy’s fingers around the neck of the flask and firmly handed it back to the engineer. “Nope. None of that. We’re putting this back into the earth. You don’t want to manifest any bad shit.”

“We’re not technically even planting anything in the ground, these are just planters on the floor,” Holtzmann pointed out, pouting.

“Still!” 

 

 

There was something so magical about making things grow. Creating something. Patty had always known the joy of creation was why people loved hobbies like sewing and scrapbooking, but for her, nothing could ever beat the allure of cracking open a brand new book (or weathered old favorite).

Until gardening, when, like magic, the tendrils she’d tenderly potted in fresh soil sprouted up in inches over the span of a week, or the plant she’d staked, convinced the entire time that she was doing it wrong, actually grew straight up and not crooked. That must be how Holtzy felt, she thought, watching the scientist dance around her workbench. Makin’ stuff every day.

Scary, radioactive, nuclear stuff, but the point remained the same.

 

 

One month in, Patty had a modest vegetable garden, with broccoli, lettuce, and peas for Abby. She’d started and potted several different varieties of flowers, planting them in the patterns her books suggested. Normally Patty would’ve fussed over colors and arrangements, but since she was getting her garden started at the tail end of August and not right at the start of spring, she felt the need to plant whatever would grow. That included roses, sweet-smelling lavender, butter-yellow marigolds, spiky dahlias, gerbera daisies, and all sorts of lilies. She experimented with climbing trellises and morning glories, climbing roses, and any other flower that wanted to get just a little bit closer to the sun.

Holtzy was forever fiddling with the trellises, busily explaining that if they could just figure out the right _angle_ the vines would grow better. Patty let her, but always moved them back afterwards into an arrangement that was less suggestive of a Dr. Seuss cartoon. After all, life was not perfectly dictated by the laws of physics, and she didn’t want any clown-looking garden.

(When Holtzmann got on her nerves rearranging things one too many times, Patty said as much. “You ain’t a physicist! Cut that out.”

“Abby and Erin—”

“Well maybe if one of them told me I’d listen, baby! Why don’t you go ask them?”

Somehow neither Abby nor Erin never seemed to materialize, and Holtzmann never stopped trying to move the stakes around.)

 

 

One day in September, Patty folded her arms up over her chest and remarked, “I wish we had a greenhouse. It’s about to get cold soon, and I want my plants to live through the winter. ”

Holtzmann’s eyes widened.

Two weeks later, Patty was presented with a miniature greenhouse made out of eco-friendly glass. It had panels that lifted open and shut, and looked like a cute little dollhouse.

“Baby, I didn’t know you knew how to cut glass!” she said, after exclaiming over the construction for the appropriate amount of time.

Holtzmann stretched like a cat. “Oh Patty, my miniature pumpkin, you don’t have any idea what I’m capable of.”

"That is both frightening and sweet, Holtzy." 

 

 

Summer gave way to a surprisingly tame autumn. Patty, having filled in every pot, tray, and hanging basket with vegetables and flowers, finally had time to relax. The roof had become a riotous, blooming panoply of living color. It was chaotic, but every time Patty went up there, she smiled.

With the remains of the décor budget, she ordered some wooden lounge chairs with cushions and brought them up to the garden.

It quickly became her favorite place to relax and read. That and an iced tea, cozy blanket, and the view of Tribeca spread out below – there was nothing better. Her teammates seemed to agree: Erin liked to work on her proofs up there, scribbling and scribbling on her little whiteboard, and Abby even moved her entire office setup outside sometimes. Holtzmann, bound to her lab, was less present than the rest of them. But she occasionally napped on one of the lounge chairs, snoring loudly and drooling into the cushions.

On one such day, Patty sat reading _Oryx and Crake_  while Holtzmann slept soundly in the chair next to her, snoring melodically. Her mouth was slightly open. She looked as peaceful and content as Patty felt.

Patty closed her book and watched for a few moments, the rise and fall of Holtzy’s chest, her pink lips, those slightly flushed cheeks. Then Holtz’s eyes opened. She looked around, seeming disoriented. When her eyes settled on Patty, she smiled instantly, the confusion in her eyes resolving like sun breaking through clouds on an overcast day.

Warmth rose in Patty’s chest and a tingle shot down her spine. "Hey there," she said gently. 

Without speaking, Holtz reached out and put her hot little hand on top of Patty's. She rolled onto her side and gazed at Patty. 

Patty wondered sometimes how she had managed to become so happy, when she hadn’t realized her glass of happiness needed any topping off at all.

 

 

Late one October evening, Patty couldn’t find Holtzmann anywhere in the firehouse. She went up the stairs to the roof, pulling her cashmere wrap sweater tighter around herself against the chill. Opening the fire door, she stepped out and stopped in her tracks.

Twinkling lights had been strung in a ceiling pattern over the entire roof, illuminating a small table set for two in the center of the garden. Candles winked on the table itself, which held a romantic meal. The garden around them looked beautiful, like a nighttime forest.

Holtzmann stepped forward, somewhat bashfully holding a bouquet. She had on a velvet waistcoat and was looking like the world’s cutest waiter. Seeing her made Patty’s heart speed up.

"Baby?" she said. "What's all this?"

“I didn’t pick these from the garden," Holtz said, offering the flowers for Patty to take. A few months ago, Patty would’ve said they were pink and purple; now she could identify them as pink hydrangeas, fuchsia alstroemeria with yellow interiors as if painted by an artist’s paintbrush, and purple irises. "I wanted those flowers to grow.”

Patty walked forward and folded the shorter woman up into her arms, crushing the bouquet between them. “Oh, baby. You make me feel like a princess.”

Holtzmann gazed up at her with a slightly dazed expression, one of unmistakable joy. She put her arms around Patty's waist in return. "Can we kiss now?"

Patty couldn't resist teasing a little. "So that's why you've been hanging around like a neighborhood kid with a crush," she said. "Helping make my garden grow."

"Yes. And it was fun," Holtz said simply. She shifted positions and rested her head against Patty's chest, still held in Patty's embrace, so that for a moment they were united by the uniform  _thump_ of Patty's heartbeat. "I like gardening, and I like to be with you."

She turned and tilted her head back, looking up at Patty expectantly. She was practically puckering her lips like Pepe Le Pew. 

"All right. You want some Patty, you get some Patty," Patty said, grinning. She bent her head down. 

They kissed. Holtzy was like a sunflower turning its head to the sun, standing up on her tiptoes and turning her neck with easy, eager grace. Man, Patty had thought about this a few times, but she didn't think it was going to be  _this_ good. They kissed some more, and then some more. And then... yes. More. 

It turned out plants weren’t the only things Patty'd been growing in her garden, and she hadn’t even known it. 

Love had blossomed there, too.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song "Levels" by Nick Jonas, and if you listen to it you'll know why.


End file.
